


i need you to run to me, lover

by jetblacklilac



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, at the end of robert's rebellion, big PHAT au (thank u tumblr!), escape fic, have patience with the first two chapters ok, little jon is so cute my heart is ded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-22 02:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16588637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: The rebellion is almost over all Ned needs to do is rescue his sister but it became more complicated with the birth of the prince. Essos seems to be the safest option and Arthur volunteers whether out of love for Prince Rhaegar or of Lady Stark, he won't dare ponder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i don't write period pieces that much because i overanalyze the accuracy and i worry i'll write out of characters,,, please comment on what you think it'll help me a lot!! and i plan to add more to this story and im pretty sure people have wrote this idea like a million times already but whatever, enjoy!!!!

The Starks have a unique kind of honor, one that they must uphold at any time. It’s been known all throughout the North, at how the family residing over the land have golden hearts and justice coats their ancestral longsword, as gruesome and red as the leaves of their weirwood trees.

 

But what is this invisible code compared to the little babe pressed against Ned Stark’s sister? Arthur can clearly picture the newfound mother inside the tower of joy, crying to the gods in pain. He has never seen child birth but the screams, he figures this is a battle no weapon of great sword skill a man can win.

 

“She’s my _sister,_ please _._ ” Ned pleaded, his hand gripped his sword in desperation.

 

_I’m only following orders._ He wanted to reason but the brother won’t accept that. Not when he knows Lyanna is so close to him already. _I want her safe._ Saying that statement won’t help his cause, it might even offend Ned because he and Howland Reed are ready to fight the Kingsguards.

 

_They started a rebellion for her. Wouldn’t I do the same in the name of Lady Lyanna’s safety?_ Arthur wondered and he feared the answer.

 

“And now it begins.” He chose, ready to execute Prince Rhaegar’s order in any way. That is what he should be doing, blindly doing whatever that is asked of him. He is nothign but a sword for the king, for the king's royal family. 

 

“No, now it ends.” Ned snarls with ferociousness that befits his family’s sigil, the North’s beast the direwolf.

 

As the men flexed their hands, their hearts set to fighting what they think is right, a shrill scream startled them.

 

“Lyanna.” Ned says, his face blanching with fear. He glowers fiercely at the knight and pointed his sword to him. “Let me through or I swear by the _gods_ , the white cloak you wear will be drenched in your own blood.”

 

He glances at his companion, Ser Oswell, when he nodded, they bought surged forward, matching the speed of their supposed enemies. The heat of the afternoon made their skins how under their armour but nothing to dull the speed as their steels sweetly sang. His ears rung as he sharply avoided the blade from swiping on his neck.

 

The battle went on for hours in his mind set. He didn’t have time to grieve for Ser Oswell’s death as he had to counter Ned’s aggressive swipes and moves. The Stark is blinded for concern of his sister, perhaps by rage at him as well, because his attacks on the knight were somewhat distracted. At one point, Ned's sword nearly ran through Arthur's ribs but he's quick enough to jump away and counter attack that move again.

 

Finally an opportunity presented itself and Arthur flicked his wrist and Ned’s sword skittered away from him. Hesitation made his movements slower as he raised his sword but he froze when he felt something sharp behind his ear.

 

It was Howland Reed. He pressed the weapon closer and dots of blood escaped Arthur’s skin. “Drop your weapon, _ser._ ” He hissed.

 

“You won’t kill me?” Arthur asked in surprise.

 

Ned stood up, clapping Howland’s shoulder with a tired smile. “No because you have the key to that blasted tower. Off you go, lead me to my sister, Ser Arthur Dayne.” He said with understandable smugness of victory.

 

They climbed the winding stairs that curls around the tall tower until they reached at the very top. He pushed the door open and they all burst forth into the room.

 

“Lyanna!” Ned exclaims in utter relief, throwing his sword to the ground and sitting beside her on the bed. He kisses her cheek with a soft smile, cradling her head close to his. “Thank gods you’re safe.”

 

"Ned, you're here!" Lyanna shouts but her voice is hoarse. Her cheeks shined of tears and her rose pink lips twisted into a smalls mile at seeing her brother approach her at the bed.

 

Arthur stares at the little bundle of cloth close to Lyanna’s chest. He sees tiny hands in the air and his throat tightened. He steps forward but he winces when Howland presses the sword a little deeper. There was an unnamed need to be closer to her, to truly be assured she survived giving birth to a prince.

 

“There will be so much catastrophes outside of this tower.” Howland reminds the siblings and the famed knight. “Robert will be king and he would get rid of any chance of Targaryens rising to claim the throne.” Everyone understood his implication of warning. Robert would most like have the babe killed before he even blinks. 

 

“I won’t let that happen. I shall protect them from any harm.” Arthrut blurts out.

 

Lyanna stares at him with those enchanting grey eyes, a frown on her plush mouth. She moves and his heart hurts at seeing the pained wince as she does. “What would you prevent, ser? Robert being king or the assassinations he would no doubt send me and my son’s way?” Her voice was soft, exhausted, but there was a firmness to it; a mother wolf protective of her pups.

 

“I would obviate any danger in your path, my lady.” He truthfully answers. And he _knows_ his answer isn’t derived out of his own oath to his prince, their fallen king, or even for the kingdom. No, it’s a selfish wish he has now verbalised rather stupidly in front of these Northern men. 

 

“Yes, you’d do that for Rhaegar isn’t it? Such a loyal knight of the Kingsguard I may say.” Ned spits out but he sways Lyanna’s son to gentle motions, glancing down at the babe.

 

“I would want to name him Aegon.” The lady says as she moves closer, her slim fingers brushing over the baby’s soft cheek. Her dark hair is knotted, her skin shines with sweat and yet she’s profoundly so lovely in his eyes.

 

“Ned, I think I have an idea.” Howland states, as he’s shifting on his weight because he’s uncertain of his proposal. “Perhaps Lyanna could go somewhere else, a place much safer than Westeros.”

 

Arthur keeps on staring at Lyanna to observe her reactions because for him, he’s quite relieved at the chance of her to live another day. “Essos might be the best option.” He suggests and Ned narrows his eyes at him. “You can’t name your son Aegon and think to be safe, my lady.” He softly advises her.

 

She nods, risking a glance at Ned, who was clearly thinking of their options. “I’ll name him Jon, for the North.”

 

“I would be honoured to accompany you to Essos.” Arthur declares and the other men in the room stared at him in disbelief. _It’s a duty for me but not for my closest friend, not for the realm but for her._ Saying those words might be the reason for the Reed to cut his head clean off his shoulders. “I can protect her when danger should arise.”

 

"To be more specific, Braavos." The Reed suggested. 

 

Ned returns Jon to Lyanna and he walks up to him, with a stride that hinted on the stiffness in his stance and his hands curled into fists. “Would you truly protect my sister and my nephew against _anything_?”

 

“On my honour as a knight.” Arthur vows, glancing at Lyanna and Jon, knowing full well he meant his words akin to vowing in front of the Seven.

 

“I trust him, brother. He’s an honourable man.” Lyanna defends him.

 

“We will proclaim both of you dead, I’m afraid. The realm will never let you and your son rest because of the blood he has in him.” Howland gently points out, lowering his sword.

 "If they are harmed, Ser Arthur Dayne, the heavens and the gods won't stop me from finding you and ending your life." Ned threatens with promise and venom in his words. 

_I’d die for them anyways._ Arthur thought to himself, staring at his newfound family.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Later in the day, they found themselves a ship. Arthur has exchanged his sacred white robes for simple common folk clothes. Lyanna wore a simple gown and a shawl over her face, keeping Jon close to her. They promised they would have a consistent communication despite being leagues away.

Family, Arthur realized, is the most important thing to anyone. More so than some throne, than an oath recited in front of a king, and so is love, he thinks. There's a sense of vulnerability in him that he hasn't felt before. Just the thought of her being harmed in sends him into a panicked state. He  _couldn't_ let that happen. 

“I shall be your wife now.” Lyanna murmurs as they settled in their cabin. It would be days before they reached their destination. Jon is on their little bed, fast asleep with the ship’s gentle rocking.

Arthur wasn't certain if he heard gladness or stiff civility in her tone. It's confusing talking to highborn ladies sometimes. He positions Dawn, his famous sword, on the bed’s side but he didn’t dare stand near her. It was one of the codes of a knight, to be as chaste as the robes he wears. “And I your husband. I’ll protect you and Jon, no matter what.”

_Oathbreaker,_ the part of him seethed into his mind. He willingly abandoned his position within the White Swords. It is, after all, deemed the most elite and important group of sworn knights in the Seven Kingdoms. His honour is so deeply embedded in the crevices of his bones, he speaks and acts like an honourable man. But how could he just leave Lady Lyanna on her own to some city she's never been in and the little money the men have on them?

_No,_ he protested as the voices grew sterner,  _I'm doing the right thing._ He leans on the wall, arms crossed as he listens to Lyanna sing a lullaby for her son. The right thing and the action he should've taken as a  _knight_ blurs because of her bright beam, directed towards him.

She smiles but this time it was genuine. “I know you will, my brave knight.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Arthur settled into being a blacksmith and a guard at taverns. His innately solemn stance and expression helped his new image in being feared. When there are brawls happening anywhere near his radius, he utilizes his impressive strength to stop before it gets worse.

 

Sometimes, Lyanna thinks he works too hard for them. She thinks it’s to keep his mind off what they have left behind. She often looks back to their lives and found them extremely complicated compared to them now, living as simple folks and no one recognized them.

 

For her, she has been hired as a seamstress, gaining popularity with her dexterous fingers and how elegant her designs are. Highborn women are frequently seen to enter the shop so much the shop owner increases her price _and_ salary because of her talent.

 

At the end of the day, they crowd around the dinner table with their son, Jon. He grows up and thankfully, he didn’t resemble anyone from his father’s side. His curls of ebony are often seen bouncing because he follows Arthur everywhere, mostly at where he tends to swords and weapons. His eyes of deep grey, like dark mist, glints in fascination as he sees Arthur create the finest weapons out of scraps of metals and steel.

 

Arthur doesn’t mind. In fact, he has grown to love Jon like his own. _A knight of the Kingsguards shouldn’t have children and a woman. He shouldn’t love anyone besides his king._ But those thoughts are forgotten each time Jon laughs or hugs him. Battles and training younger knights are things of the past. 

 

“You can’t catch me, papa!” Jon squeals in delight as he pushed his heels harder on the ground and ran faster.

 

Arthur barely hid his amusement as he, without effort, caught him and lifted him in the air. They both guffawed in delight. “You shouldn’t run too far from me, little one.” He says, letting the boy stand on his feet.

 

Jon giggles and he found himself smiling. “Mama always says you’ll protect us, papa. And I know you will! You’re the Sword of the Morning Star.” He exclaimed in pride.

 

He bends down on his knees. “Don’t say that out loud okay? It’s our secret, Jon.” He quietly warns him because even now, in this safe bubble one can never be sure of who’s in their midst and what they’ll do if they chance upon their conversation.

 

He nods. “I want to be like you, papa. I want to be a knight.” Jon states with all the certainty in the world.

 

Arthur smiles and pats Jon’s chubby cheek. “And you’ll be a great one, mayhap even greater than me.” _My son,_ he thought but he catches himself and holds his tongue. _He is Rhaegar’s son, not ever mine._ Sometimes he forgets reality because Jon is nothing like the prince. He doesn’t have the Targaryen’s sunshine locks or bright lilac eyes. He’s a Stark, he’s Lyanna’s son.

 

“No one can be greater than you, papa.” Jon softly replies before he regards the former knight with an inquisitive look which meant trouble. “And maybe when I’m all ready I can hold Dawn?” He pleads as his large grey eyes became softer and harder to resist.

 

As a knight, he must have an iron will, a strength that means to bend to nothing and no one. Yet his training didn’t prepare him for a pouting child, much less Lyanna’s adorably pouting son. “You have to earn the right, Jon.”

 

“I will!” He vows and he winds his arms around the former knight’s neck and hugging him close.

 

_What is a knight’s oath and honour compared to family?_

 

_Nothing, absolutely nothing._ He finally answered without any shame or guilt he has been feeling since they stepped on a boat to sail away from Westeros. He hugged Jon tighter.

 

Lyanna lays a letter flat on the table, beside her bowl of soup. “It has finally arrived.” She announces and she lays her small hand on his large one.

 

It was one thing to be married in words but they have found a peculiar comfort to gifting each other with shy touches. A kiss on the cheek Arthur gives her before they both go to work. Lyanna would often clean his wounds when he acted as the mediator between drunken fights and when she’s not frustrated at him for being so honourable, she presses a kiss or two on his hand.

 

At times when he catches Lyanna gazing at him with an unmistakably fond look, he wonders if she still loves their befallen prince. _How can she look at me like that when I helped the prince in kidnapping her? Took her away from her family and willingly bid my prince’s orders without questioning them._

 

Does this fierce sense of protectiveness come from the last order Prince Rhaegar gave or from his heart?

 

“Is it from Uncle Ned?” Jon questions as he turns himself to his mother.

 

Arthur opens the letter and smiles. “Aye, lad it is. We can read it together after you eat your soup.” He negotiates, ruffling Jon’s hair.

 

They have collectively agreed to not hide the truth from Jon. He should know he’s from the North, should be familiar with the names of his cousins, uncles and aunts. At his young age, he takes to heart the Stark’s words. He appears to be excited each time Lyanna or Arthur talk about her family; his family at the other side of the world. Sometimes, he would beg so adorably for stories about Arthur before he sleeps that he can never resist.

 

After years, he sometimes feels amazed at how easily he fell into the role of being Jon’s father. Before this, all he had to live for was to protect the king, mayhap even put down his life for the throne. He is rather known for being honourable, chivalrous even because a knight’s life should be centred on the safety of the realm, of the king who sits upon the Iron Throne.

 

Yet here he is, listening to Lyanna talks of her customers and their bizarre notions for dresses and occasionally reminds Jon to finish his soup _and_ eat his vegetables as well.

 

Lyanna tosses a few wood blocks into the fire and sits next to Arthur as Jon sits himself on his lap. She reads the first few lines and her smile is brighter than the orange hue bathing their skins. “It says here that Robb just celebrated his nameday. Oh and Sansa has begun to walk, the little girl has captivated everyone in Winterfell!" She said, still reading more of the letter’s content.

 

Jon bounced and clapped. “Tell Uncle Ned and Robb I’m happy for him, mama.” He tugs her arm and moves to look at Arthur with childish joy. "Oh and congratulate Sansa for walking. She's still a baby but I'm glad she's walking."

 

“We’re all happy for them, Jon.” Arthur agrees, brushing the curls away from his gleaming eyes. “Any other news?”

 

She glanced up to him, to them and her mouth curves into a beam. “Oh he just asks for our well-being. Nothing more. Let’s get you to bed little one.” She coos at her son, ignoring his pout, and they walk off to his bedroom.

 

He knows better than to read the letter himself. It is, after all, a personal letter the Lord of Winterfell has written to his sister. He's only her bodyguard in Essos, nothing more or less. It feels odd describing him with that word because often, he helps Lyanna prepare their meals, play with her son out in the fields and stay up all night just talking with her, be lulled by the silky quality of her voice, like no other.

 

_What am I to her?_ He fears he’ll never know because he’ll never ask.

Later that night, he lies on the bed and he hides a smile when he feels the dip of Lyanna’s weight beside him. He pretends to be asleep when she inches closer, curling herself to his side that he knows in the morning, her excuse will be because she was deep in slumber. He drops his arm and loosely splays it on her waist.

 

“I know you’re awake, Art.” Lyanna whispers on his chest.

 

“You know everything, my lady.” He teases with a chuckle.

 

She raises herself by her elbow and gazes at him with the same fond expression he can’t ever process or understand. “I’m not a lady anymore. I’m a mother and a seamstress.” She reminds him with an arched brow. Her sharp tongue hasn’t dulled from her abduction or even in this foreign land.

 

His hand combs through her thick inky locks, flowing down and tickles his stomach. “I know but you’ll always be my lady.” His tone took a dangerous soft dip but she wasn’t demanding he take his hand away from her back or to stop these comforting touches.

 

“Jon says he wants to be a knight like you. I don’t blame him. Every boy used to want to be like you.” Lyanna laughs, pressing her cheek on his chest and eyes him with those glittering dark orbs.

 

“Perhaps I should start training him in the morning. See if he’s like your brother.” Arthur decides and deep down, he knows Jon will be gifted with a sword.

 

“Thank you.”

 

His hand roams her clothed back and he nods. “’Tis not a problem.”

 

“No I mean,” Lyanna has been known to be fierce as a direwolf but now she’s meek as a baby wolf. “For everything you’ve done for my son and me, I’ll always cherish you beside me. You’ve been a father to Jon and now he has a wonderful role model to look up to. I’m so relieved I’m not _alone_ in this foreign land. My brave knight, you are my anchor and I am perpetually grateful for your presence.” She says, taking his hand and intertwining their hands together.

 

“We built a life together. I don’t regret it, everything. I would do it all over again if it means we’ll end up with our own quaint cottage and a tomorrow to wake up to.” He earnestly confessed to her. Wearing his heart on his sleeve is nothing a soldier would do but he left that lifestyle long ago.

 


	2. This Road Leads to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idc that this is flopping bc i have more bleeping ideas for this story,,, anyways comments and kudos would be great!! (hint: its the Starks)

Lyanna Stark has grown used to the blistering heat all around her. With her time at King’s Landing, it was a much harder time to adjust because she has spent her childhood in Winterfell. A sad smile curls her mouth at that notion. She thinks of her hometown often, much so when she’s left to her thoughts in the shop and no customer arrives.

Any person from the North, when taken away from the chilled lands, would immediately miss how the winds could freeze one’s blood with one blow, or no matter how large the hearth was, you would always feel a slight shiver. She misses the snowball fights with her brothers, their laughter that echoes around the Keep.

Ned’s letters are kept in a secret chest beneath the bed. When sleep doesn’t come easy to her, she reads them like her favourite bedtime stories. In his letters, it wasn’t hidden how he also misses his dear sister. There would always be an open suggestion for them to visit Winterfell.

Oh how her heart dances at the mere notion of it. She would gladly board the next ship to White Harbour. _The war has ended. Robert’s reign is a dull regime and for once, I am relieved of that. Who would’ve thought a Baratheon would be King?_ The Westerosi King’s name and the man she should’ve married have an odd connection.

She knew Robert in her youth; a boisterous and ruthless man with his war hammer. Picturing him on that spiky Iron Throne made her laugh under her breath. _The Robert I know wouldn’t like to be king but he would like sitting on his arse all day._

Arthur has made new swords with a special sort of metal since the one requested it is of noble birth. His famed skill has reached the highborns as well and specifically asked of him to create such swords. Now, he tests it out with Jon since he helped him in this case. Lyanna had no important appointment to look forward to so she took the afternoon off. Packing a lunch for three, they roamed the numerous canals of the city with their rickety boat until they found a less crowded pier. The men showcased their swords and decided to spar.

 “Father, look you’re boring mother so much she isn’t paying attention!” Jon’s teasing voice cut through her thoughts.

Lyanna looks up from her skirt and sees her son and Arthur face each other with dull swords on their hands. He has grown up to look like any other Stark that was born before their time.

With Jon spending most of his days with Arthur in the armoury, his body is toned with muscle and his pale skin is often seen smeared with soot, dirt, or charcoal. And to her delight, Jon almost _resembles_ Arthur in the way he carries himself like a dignified man. Jon has acquired an attitude of being gallant to anyone on the docks, the swordsmen, sailors, and merchants.

He isn’t like any Targaryens so no suspicious has ever rose or put him in the spotlight. _The blood of Winterfell has won in him._

 “Mayhap I’m bored because you’re not trying hard enough, Jon.” Arthur laughs.

Her heart flutters at seeing her knight so jovial. When they were stuck at the tower of joy, he rarely expresses anything except for civil neutrality on his face. Being locked away in that tower made matters worse for an enamoured teenager because Rhaegar has abandoned her, pregnant with their child, Jon. He was her only company that made her feel safe. Though they rarely spoke, his presence alone made the tremulous worry in her chest ceased, and until now she’s thankful.

Jon advanced with his sword raised and his boots maddeningly tapping against the wooden dock. Their swords countered each swift attacked aimed either at one’s neck or chest. They danced in circles, dodging swift cuts and attacks. Her son has taken upon the famed knight as they mirror each other, think alike in the time of sparring. Their fighting session could stand for an hour or two because still at that time, there isn’t a clear winner. That and Jon loves to spar with Arthur, both of them taunting each other and basically wrestle on the ground.

The younger man used all his might to raise his sword over his head as Arthur brought his shield up to his face. The effect of it had them slamming their knees on the stoned road that leads out to the dock where the once started to fight. But Arthur stood first, offering his hand.

“We must work on your defence.” Arthur pointed out. He ruffled Jon’s head of inky curls to which the boy groaned in mild protest. “Go clean our swords you loser.”

 “Honestly, Father, no one could keep up scores with you.” Jon huffs as he’s collecting their swords and shields.

“He does it to keep his pride up my son. Do pity the old man.” Lyanna chimed in with a cheeky smile. Both mother and son snicker at his falsely offended expression. Her smile goes wider in seeing Arthur approach her and sit by her side. _As things should be._

He smells of dirt and his skin is gleaming in sweat but Lyanna is just relieved to have him in her life. “A kiss from the princess for the winner?” He innocently inquires, planting his arm behind her and he leans closer.

Jon sits at the edge of the dock, sharply avoiding the adults as he cleaned the swords with a rag. His feet dangle over the edge, his boots skimming the surface of the water, causing feeble ripples to appear.

 Lyanna barely notices Jon making a disgusted face. She presses her lips to his in a gentle pressure, as though to savour the adoration they finally admitted to themselves, finding no attachment to shame or guilt.

His large hand crawls its way home to the nape of her neck and she leans forward, nuzzling her nose to his cheek akin to a wolf does to its mate. “You should let him win sometimes, my love. He sulks worse than my brother.” She sighs, kissing his cheek, ignoring the rasp of his beard against her skin.

“Victories make a man proud, excessively so but defeats, ah, it builds character!” Arthur defends himself. His hand that’s loosely circled on her neck pushed her closer until their mouths move in a sensual dance once more. After what felt like the sweetest lifetime has passed, he pulls away, smirking at how she innately chases his lips.

Lyanna glowers at him but he sees the adoration underneath. “If you’re trying to shut me up with a kiss then you’re gravely mistaken, ser. You’re too vain for your own good.” She pointedly warned but her small hands clutch at the heavy cloak he dons.

“I love when we argue because I love your voice, darling.” He drawls and presses the gentlest of kisses on her nose.

“Okay if I clean these blades any longer, I could get cuts just by looking at them.” Jon announced, the rag on his shoulder, one of his hands obscuring his eyes as he held the swords on the other.

They rolled their eyes at his antics.

He sits cross legged before them, breaking the bread into pieces before he eats them. “Do you think I would’ve won against Robb? He doesn’t have the best knight as his mentor.”  He laughs when his mother smacks his arm.

“Don’t make his ego bigger, my son. It’s insufferable as it it.” Lyanna complains, drinking a cup of wine and hiding her fond smile; the same one she has generously gifted her knight for years, since they escaped their lives in Westeros.

Arthur drinks from his cup and shrugs. “I am not certain who would win, Jon. I haven’t observed how your cousin fights. Perhaps Rodrik did a better work than I do.” He truthfully answers but he notices how the boy is deep in his thoughts. He glanced at the woman next to him and they shared a meaningful look.

Lyanna knows Jon has grown up to stories of her family. He’s caught up in their affairs, has their names memorized, and she knows the Starks in Winterfell feel the same. Over the years, there have been numerous invitations from Ned to come back to their hometown, of course under the guise of false names and such, but at least they would be home. She hesitated for reasons she couldn’t think of in that moment, observing how quiet Jon had become with how he introduced this topic to them.

 _He wants to go see them._ She realized.

“We can never truly know until you fight him, you know.” Lyanna gently prods into this notion, so richly yearned by the three of them it’s almost too much if they engage in this full force.

Jon straightened his spine and stared at them, incredulous. “I-uh…. That is a true statement, mother.” He mutters,, his gaze dropping on the little picnic she has for them.

Arthur presses her closer to his side and she doesn’t complain, resting her head on his shoulder. “Is that what you want, Jon? You’d want to visit Winterfell where your uncle and cousins are?”

Jon laughs nervously, running his fingers through his sweat shined locks. “It’s silly, I know, to see what more than this is.” He gestures to the near empty pier they’re situated, at the near end of the road, there are merchants with their woven baskets, filled with molluscs, shells, and pirates alike arriving to land from the moons of sailing.

“I have a future here with Father in our shop. But when I look out at the seas surrounding Braavos, I just know there’s more to life than this, than our quiet life here.” He glances at Lyanna. “I’m sorry, Mother I didn’t mean to offend or overstep boundaries. I know it isn’t safe for us to ever step foot on Westeros sail.” There was grief in his voice, for a land he hasn’t seen but grew up with stories and dreams flourishing in his head.

“Your mother misses Winterfell more than you will understand so she knows what you talk of. Being homesick is nothing to be ashamed of.” Arthur gently agrees and kisses the side of her head with a reverence she has never known with the men in her past.

Sometimes it surprises her how quickly it took her to forget the father of Jon; the man with the sun in his hair, his eyes were brilliantly mesmerizing. But with him by her side she understands, Arthur isn’t anything like Rhaegar or Robert. Yes, he’s the best knight in Westerosi history but his heart is what she adores above everything else. He dotes on them in a way she just knows Rhaerar won’t ever do when she would’ve ended up with him.

“You think it’s possible?” Jon’s hope youth voice reminded Lyanna of her brothers, of Ben and Ned. Oh how she misses them, too much to convey through words.

“Anything is possible, my son.” She answers.

Jon drinks the mulled wine, wiping the sweat from him forehead. “What about you, Father? Do you miss being a knight?” His questions were innocent enough. “You are the best knight that has ever lived. Don’t you miss the glory or the battles?”

She turns to Arthur with interest because those questions have always rested on her tongue. The life they have here is vastly different from what they had back in their homeland. She was a noble lady, betrothed to Robert Baratheon. Meanwhile Arthur is a man of the Kingsguard, a man adored by the smallfolk who earned respect because of his good hearted deeds done for the throne, for the royal family.

It took him a moment or two to find an answer. “It used to be my life, I’ll admit but I don’t miss it too much. I have someone to spar with, that’s you Jon and with the battles I’ve participated in is enough for one lifetime. I lived long enough to _have_ a life outside of protecting the man who wears the crown.” Without knowing it, he brings her closer and drops his chin on her shoulder. “I would prefer this, us, rather than the life I would’ve led when I didn’t leave. Most like, I’d die in a battle, in the name of the king, and they’d write my greatest deed on the White Book.”

Later that night, she sits by the small vanity. It wasn’t anything grand like the ones she had in King’s Landing or even at Winterfell; merely a small oval looking glass perched on a wooden table. She’s focusing on undoing the braid on her hair when Arthur enters the room. She squeals in equal amounts of delight and surprise when he effortlessly lifts her from the rickety chair and into his arms. All she could see is her wavy locks brushing on her face.

She laughs, breathless as her back hit the geese feathered mattress. “Hello, my brave knight.” She whispers to him. The moonlight washes on his face; his scratchy beard can be seen greyer, his eyes shone bright though it was dark as the night. His smile though, her fingers skim along his skin, it’s always soft for her or for her son.

He kisses her deep and passionate. His hand cradles the back of her head as she closes her eyes, her hands clutch at his shoulders. A smile curves her mouth and she’ll forever fawn over how everything is easy with him. He plants his elbow on the bed and breaks the kiss.

“Hello.” He greets with a husky tone. His weight is mostly kept off her but she finds herself yearning to feel him on top of her. “What’s on your mind, hm?” He murmurs, his hand takes away from strands of her hair away from her face.

“What we discussed with Jon.” She admits with shyness. It hasn’t left her mind even as they walked back home, her hand in Arthur’s and they listen to Jon rant about his day, his accomplishments as Arthur’s apprentice in the workshop.

“I think Jon thinks of it too, right now. I don’t blame you both. Your lives there would’ve been grander.” His eyes slide away from her lovely face and stares at their intertwined fingers.

Her finely drawn eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Art, what are you talking about? I miss my family not my situation when we left. I was stuck in a bloody tower while that blonde fool goes into war.” She huffs then cups his face with her small hands. “I was young, foolish, and scared out of my mind. What I miss is Winterfell, my brothers, my nieces and nephews. I haven’t thought of him in years. You are here with _me,_ with Jon. He loves you like a father.”

“I am not his true father.” Arthur reminded her, squirming away from her soothing embrace. His shoulders are hunched as he sits at the edge of the bed.

She hugs him, her chest to his back. “That’s incorrect, Dayne.” She says, playfully biting his clothed shoulder. When he doesn’t react and has his neck craned down. “You have performed all duties a father is expected to do.”

He shakes his head, those curls sway as well. “All except one…”

“It’s the least important one on the list.” She moves to his side, her thin cotton shift pooling high on her thighs as she cups his cheeks once more, stubbornly making eye contact. “Jon _doesn’t_ regret you in his life. The boy follows everywhere you go, my love!”

The fondness breaks through his vacant mask. “You both deserve to go to Winterfell. I will inquire for a ship for White Harbour as soon as possible.” He decides, kissing her cheek.

“And I shall write to my brother to inform his family of our plans.” Lyanna says in agreement. “Thank you so much for this, my dear. Going back home with my son and you? 'Tis the best gift I can ever have.” There’s a subtle tone of awe in her tone as she gazes at him with the fondest smile she has given him.

He gathers her small hands and kisses the knuckles. “Anything I do will be because of your child and you, my sweet lady.” He vows, almost like an oath recited for the king.

His kind of devotion is so sweetly different from the one the prince would’ve offered her; a blind and frantic view of what her son’s role is to some prophecy. Arthur would lay his life for them if need be because he loves them. _My brave knight,_ she thinks as she leans forward and their noses touch.

“He’s our child now.” Lyanna gently corrects him and presses a kiss on the corner of his mouth.


	3. I'm Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's meant to be a visit but Jon's heart wants to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this is alright lmao

When Jon was young, he used to _beg_ Father for stories as a knight. He’d shoot his mother a cheeky grin whenever she comments on how unfortunate it is he inherited her large grey eyes, because the former knight always concedes.

The giddiness washed in his veins in hearing the heroic things his father has done. Jon often pictures him in his Kingsguard outfit, an extravagant one made form gold and their capes white as the clouds. He would have a long and heavy sword, Dawn. The famed greatsword now rests somewhere in their bedchamber he knows. His father always stood taller in his dreams, braver, more daring.

But what he and his mother did was by far the bravest thing they have ever done; leaving everything they know for _him._ It surpasses the battles he went through, putting men in their early graves. They haven’t told him the precise reason why they had to leave though.

_Bad people were after us. Robert’s Rebellion has just ended and he got crowned, stepping over the corpse and blood of the fallen._

He never understood how that could affect his mother. Starks are quite close with the Baratheon. Why would Robert actively seek revenge against his mom? Didn’t he fight the bloody war for honor, justice, and for her? There were missing pieces to the puzzle, this he knew the day he began to speculate on the holes of their story.

What would King Robert do if he finds out that he and his mother are actually alive and are being escorted to Winterfell with the help of Uncle Ned’s men? Would they hang Father for being an oathbreaker? What would they do with him, the son of the princess who escaped?

Jon isn’t sure what the answers could be. Aside from the frantic worry, he managed to divert his anxiety and admire the surroundings they’re in. And everything is quite different from Braavos. From where he grew up, it is a wilderness with clusters of islands and canals snaking in between the land. The heat is unbearable in the day and in the night, he piles up the wool blanket until he’s certain he’s suffocating from lack of air. The list could go on and on about how his hometown and Winterfell are vastly different.

First, the most noticeable fact is the cold. Thankfully, his parents gave him new sets of clothes because none of what he wears would prepare him for the cold, how bitingly chilly it is that he can still feel the breeze prickle his skin. His eyes wouldn’t stay still, they kept on roaming the distant slopes of snowy mountains, and snow is a fixed sight for miles and miles in their journey. It was a truly fascinating thing. The moment he saw the piles of snow beside the stables, he bent down, burying his gloved hands, his fingers smashing the ice and his smile widened until it hurt.

Their trail carried on, ignoring Jon’s wandering mind as his parents were at his sides, subtly nervous but quiet. The one who leads them is a sturdy man named Jory. He didn’t talk much to him, only to Father and they both used low tones, seriousness clear on their faces.

Mother has taken it upon herself to educate her son on her hometown. She filled the silence with childhood anecdotes that Jon knew by heart. She acted as his guide as she pointed to the landmarks, adding in some Northern history here and there that was never too boring for Jon.

He listened intently but more importantly, to the tenderness of her tone because it shows how important it is that they are here. Once in a while, he sneaks a glance at Father, solemn but Jon knows he’s alert and vigilant for any potential danger.

But then Jon saw the castle rise in their field of vision and he forgot about anything else. Oh it was a glorious sight, walls of granite so high, from his estimate the outer wall rose above eighty feet, as though it dares to touch the sky in all its pride.

The guards perched on the North Tower saw their company and opened the gate, the massive doors creaking in effort. He gaze with interest in his new surroundings. “The Broken Tower.” He murmured, trained on the ruins of once the tallest watchtower.

Lyanna smiled. “Aye, but now they also call it the burned tower because of the lightning. I rather think the crows like it better than we did.”

The courtyard was wide, with the different sorts of sections at its corners. He spotted the armory straight away, with the blacksmith standing grim and covered in coal and dirt. There were evidences that they also practice archery with bows and arrows kept at the side but he spotted them anyways. He blinked, heat creeping to his cheeks as he realized he has been gaping at the entire household, standing behind the Stark family.

He descended on his horse, giving it to the stable boy and walked in between his parents. His fingers fidgeted with the heavy fur lined coat, obscuring him from the wintery winds. They were walking towards his family.

Jon recognized the Lord of Winterfell, a tall and stern man with a shadow of a beard. His hair matched Mother’s, he wore a thick grey coat like the rest of his family. Beside him was a beautiful redhead with icy blue eyes and his first instinct was to shrink away from her scrutinizing gaze but he relaxed at her warm smile.

Then there were his cousins, a line of mischiefs he can tell already. The oldest it seems has curls of auburn with sky eyes, matching that of their mother. His eyes studied the eldest daughter and his heart stopped. _Gods,_ Jon gushed in his mind, because she’s the loveliest girl he’s ever seen. Thick fiery locks braided down her back, soft pink lips, and her face so kind he would’ve assumed she’s the Maiden in the flesh. Then the kids were all brown haired children, one was a girl and two were boys, but they all shared that smirk that told Jon they were discussing a prank before they arrived. At the back, was a tall brunette lad, with a small smile that matched the glint in his eyes.

“Ned.” Lyanna states in a tremulous state. She embraced her brother and she’s almost swallowed by sentimentality because of her tiny stature.

“Sister.” Uncle Ned replies with the same fondness,  kissing the top of her head.

“My family, you remember my-“ Lyana pauses, her eyes skirting around the servants around them, unsure if she should announce their true identity.

 _How is it still dangerous?_ Jon wonders, glancing at Father with a frown.

He doesn’t give any indication.

Catelyn, Jon recalls, steps forward, placing a hand on her shoulder, giving a small smile. “You have nothing to fear. No one would dare betray the Warden of the North.” She assures with a gentle tone.

Lyanna reaches for Father’s hand and brings him forward. “Arthur Dayne, my protector in all these years.” She proclaimed then motion for him to step closer. “And my son, Jon.”

Jon tried not to squirm under the gaze of the Warden of the North. “It’s an honour to be your guest.” He says and moves his hand to shake his hands. It was a firm shake contrast to Catelyn’s gentler shake.

“It’s been too long.” Ned said in that Northern accent and clapped Jon hard on the back.

“You look just like us.” One of his cousins noted with a shrill voice. And almost automatically, another voice responded by exclaiming, “Arya, honestly!”

Jon turned to them with a bright smile. “Well we are family, yes?” He said. “I know all your names. Let me try; Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon.”

The children moved forward, half surrounding him as the adults moved towards the Great Hall.

“Cousin, you must tell us stories of Braavos. I’m afraid it’s all we’ll have of the land.” Robb says, clamping a hand on his shoulder. They were almost of height and Jon is so glad in this moment because he has a chance to have a brother.

The youngest boys bounced on the balls of their feet and grinned at that suggestion. “Oh please do!” Bran and Rickon prattled off in hurried tones.

“But first we should let him eat. He must be starving from the days of travelling.” Sansa gently reminded her siblings, holding Bran close to her side as though she stirs him away from Jon.

“Children!” Catelyn called and waved her hand.

Breaking fast with the Starks was warmer than he expected which is ironic since they’re in the middle of winter but he hadn’t felt it in their company. Or was it because the springs pass underneath the castle that keeps them warm? He snuck a glance at Sansa, talking to Rickon as she smiles with that delicate grace he’s finding to cherish more and more, and he knows the answer already.

Jon gesticulates as he tells his audience what he does, helping his father in the shop, the way of life is in Braavos is so different from Westeros. He laughs at their japes and the commotion they create almost drowned out the conversations the adults have in the same high table.

He spreads jam on his bread, and aimed his arched brow at Robb. “I hear you train with swords. I must warn you, I help make the finest ones and my father is the greatest knight to ever live.” He taunts, making Robb roll his eyes.

“Have a duel then, like true knights!” Bran suggested.

“You mean like a tourney?” Jon questioned. He has heard of such things because Father used to join. Father used to say how they make a spectacle out of it; feasts with flowing wine and grandeur of it all sometimes appals him. Honour is the main motivator of all the knights who join, to either live or die for glory and the victory is so tempting to any man who knows how to wield a sword.

Arya shakes her head, giggling. “You silly, that’s only done in the South! No, you and my big brother shall have a true battle to the death!” She raised her spoon, shining with the remaining butter.

Robb rolls his eyes. “Do not worry, Jon, ‘tis not till death. “Then he shot him a challenging smirk. “Well, not for me at least.”

“Oh you are so on!” Jon agreed with much enthusiasm.

“Children,” Ned called and the kids immediately quieted down to listen to their father. “Why don’t you give your cousin a tour of the castle?”

The kids jumped up to the suggestion and quite literally dragging him away from the chair and led him around the Keep. Jon admired the complex structure of it all; a series of mazes of courtyards, towering walls. One of his favourite site is the glass gardens where the vegetables and flowers grow.

“Mother says the winter rose grows here.” Jon says, seeing beautiful flowers but none that fits her description.

Arya snorts. “Yes in songs mayhap but they’re rare. Anyways, let us not dwell here.” She said, already holding Jon’s hand as did Bran, curling his small hand on Jon’s elbow. Robb is in front of them and Sansa is at his side with baby Rickon following around her.

“To the crypts of Winterfell then.” Robb proposed and they all laughed when Sansa groaned.

“What’s in there?” Jon asked her, finding an excuse to properly gaze her beauty. He has never seen such silky locks like hers. In Braavos he’s surrounded by dark haired people, the Tyoshi had bright coloured hair, and other strange customs. But not like Sansa’s so captivating with the sun’s gentle glare, almost making her hair melt like copper.

She eyes him with those blue orbs and he likes to think the blue in them are only found with her, nowhere else in the world. “It’s where the graves of our ancestors our; the Kings of Winter. We dedicate a statue to them as well.” She answers him and her gloved hand skims over his arm. “It’s quite dark in there and sometimes it scary because without a torch, you wouldn’t see two feet in front of you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be by your side.” Jon assures her.

Sansa makes a face and giggles. “No what I meant to say was Arya and Robb love to scare people down there! I was trying to warn you, my dear cousin.” She says with such affection and her smile warmer than the sun in Essos. Rickon laughs at his reddened face.

“Right, let us go then.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The day was well spent, running around the castle, jokes and laughter following them everywhere they go. They briefly visited the godswoods; it stretched on vastly, and somehow the world feels quitter here. It fascinated him to see a weirwoood tree stand around him; the leaves coated in blood like there was a grotesque bloodbath, the carved face on the tree’s trunk, and somehow Jon felt the gods were watching them.

Mother says that the North worships the Old Gods, unnamed spirits, that dwell in these trees, watching them with searching eyes and ever so apathetic.

“It’s so beautiful in here.” Jon observed in awe.

“Father comes here to think and to sharpen Ice, his greatsword.” Arya explains.

Sansa urged them to pray together and her siblings agreed. They all knelt and Robb told Jon how they pray, so unlike the faiths established in Essos.

Their activities were fun but not as fun when a snowball fight was brought up by Bran.

“We should ask Theon to join us so we can split evenly.” Arya advises them.

The same brunette lad comes forward. He’s slight with muscles and he laughed when he saw them. “Ah, a battle is about to begin.” He proclaims in a false tone of worry.

Robb, Sansa, and Bran became a team so he’s left with Theon and Arya. They began running around the vast and almost empty courtyard. It was near the godswoods with only a small group of guards keeping an eye on them.

He aimed at Theon to which the Greyjjoy dodged it with a delighted laugh. “You slimy Kraken!” He japes and Robb threw his head back in laughter.

Arya was a speedy little thing, throwing her snowball at Robb, square in the chest. She clapped her hands and went to Jon, bouncing on her feet. “Jon, look what I did! We’re winning.” She shrieked in glee. She hid behind Jon when Theon threw another one at them.

Bran was the first to be taken down. Robb sat next to him as they shouted taunts and encouragements. Then Theon joined them thanks to Jon. Now it was between Sansa,, Jon and Arya but before they advanced, Jon’s parents emerged from the castle.

Lyanna arched a brow at the little scene. “We were planning to ride along the territory.” She picks up Arya, both of them giggling. “How about you join me, little wolf?” She asked, brushing her nose on Arya’s cheek.

“Can I, Mother?” Arya asked, circling her skinny arms around her aunt.

Catelyn nodded. “Of course, darling. Have fun with your aunt.” She suggested.

“Sansa, love, won’t you join us?” Mother asked.

“She wouldn’t want to dirty her dress or exhaust herself. She’s a lady afterall.” Arya answers for her older sister.

Sansa glowered fiercely and lifted her chin in the air. “In fact, I _will_ join you.” She gritted out.

Jon eyed Father, talking with Uncle Ned, both in deep in conversation. He couldn’t read their lips so he couldn’t know what they were talking about. But the men were probably exchanging stories.

Jon, Robb, and Theon spent the afternoon sparring. Rodrik, the Master-at Arms of the castle allows them to use real steel in their practiced combat with little protection. The boys laughed as they avoided each attack, countered the aimed jab with sweet songs from steel and laughing trailing not so after. They forgot to keep scores up, the three of them, enjoying the rush of a supposed battle.

And Jon didn’t care because for the first time in his life, he has brothers to play with. Father is an excellent teacher but it’s fun to just jest around boys his age with no worry in the world.

“Boys,” Father called. “Come inside. The feast preparations are almost over.”

“Not unless you fight us, Ser!” Robb called out but yelped when Rodrik slapped the back of his head.

“You foolish lad, don’t you know he’s the best swordman anywhere on the land!” Their mentor growled.

“And I am his apprentice so, fight me with caution.” Jon taunted.

Theon scoffed. “Yes Jon, that’s why I beat you to the dirt!”

They began fighting about who’s best but was quickly pulled apart from the adults and the boys were led to their rooms.

The feast was unlike everything Jon has seen. The foods are excellent, Mother says they featured the best North delicacies and he fell this stomach getting overwhelmed with the tastiness of it all. He sat next to Robb and Arya, the boys laughing as the girl recounted her ride with Mother.

“She’s _glorious,_ like some knight heading into battle. And she’s so skilled she even taught me some tricks!” Arya said in delight.

There were a group of people in front of the high table, dancing to the songs the musicians play. He only knew some because Mother would sing to herself whenever she sews or cooks. The rest, they were a mix of joyous notes and bizarre words.

Robb groaned. “Oh gods, hide me from Sansa, will you?” He whispered in desperation, Arya and Bran snickering.

“Why?” Jon questioned.

Bran moved his shaggy brown locks away from his eyes. “Sansa always asks him to dance with her. She can’t ask Arya because well, she’s Arya-“ To which the mentioned girl jabbed her elbow on the boy’s side and he coughed a few times. “And I’m too young.”

Sansa stands before them, with pleading blue eyes as Robb pretends his cup of water is infinitely interesting. “Brother…” She trailed off.

Robb’s auburn curls sways as he shakes his head. “Ask our guest to join you, sweet sister.” He says with such slyness and a smirk. Arya and Bran laughed out loud, catching Catelyn’s attention.

“I-I do not know any dances my lady…” He found himself stammering over his polite refusal. But he isn’t sure why because Sansa is so pretty and polite, how could this be a bad idea?

She offers her small hand. “I’ll teach you, my dear cousin.”

At the dance floor, she directs his large hand on her waist and the other cradles her hand like porcelain. They sway in loose circles, matching the rhythm of the music.

“This is my favourite song.” Sansa murmurs. They stood almost in height, her sweet breaths caressing his cheeks.

Jon nods, finding his tongue wrapping in itself out of nervousness. “Uh, ‘tis the first time I heard it but aye, it is lovely. Like you, Sansa.” He earnestly commented; admiring how enchanting it is to make her blush that way, pink spreading on her pale cheeks.

He isn’t sure if it’s the ale that Theon snuck to them or uncharacteristic boldness, he stepped closer. Their chests touching each other and surely his hand resting on the small of her back is somehow improper. But she hadn’t protested and instead, her smile, the sweetest sight in this wintery place is aimed at him.

They both laugh when Jon tries to spin her around. He’s facing the high table with Sansa gazing at him with a breathless beam. It was an interesting sight. Catelyn’s mouth tightened into a straight line. Uncle Ned was busy talking with his men. Jon’s parents were talking to themselves. It seems the Tully has been observing them from where she stands.

Jon looks down at Sansa, contented in _his_ arms. _How can I leave now?_ He wonders. The music ends, the dance partners bow. Jon places butterfly kisses on Sansa’s knuckles. He walks her to where her siblings are, arguing and dividing the lemon cake amongst themselves.

Sansa sits next to Bran and Arya meanwhile Jon is beside Robb.

He slides a plate of a cake’s slice to Jon. “It was horrible, wasn’t it? Gods why does Sansa have to be so obsessed with such nonsense.” He grumbles.

Jon eyes Sansa and this time, she looks up at him and returns his smile. “It was alright but perhaps if I am to be her new partner, I need more dances with her.” _I need a lifetime with her._

Robb eyes him with an incredulous look. “Thank gods you’re here to replace me!”

**Author's Note:**

> i got the inspiration from: harritudur.tumblr.com/post/170663566662/request-the-essos-au-arthur-and-jon-over-the (like HONESTLY thank you tumblr person!!!)


End file.
